


Crossed Wires

by foreverdistracted



Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF, Real Person Fiction, The Hobbit RPF
Genre: Developing Relationship, M/M, Panic Attacks, Pining, Slow Build, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-05
Updated: 2013-10-09
Packaged: 2017-12-28 12:59:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/992257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foreverdistracted/pseuds/foreverdistracted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One of the many friendships Richard forged in New Zealand came easier than the rest, and hurt more than he expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Taking great liberties with the whole filming process and schedule. Heaping love on my wonderful beta, all remaining mistakes are mine.

"Dickie." 

"You're a right tosser, Jimmy. You know that, yeah?"

"Dickie, we're here."

Richard snapped awake. He reflexively wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. "I wasn't asleep," he muttered, and frowned as laughter rose from all around him. 

"Oh, leave him alone," he heard Adam say from the seat to his far right, across the bus's aisle. "He's been up since 3 a.m."

"So have I!" James whined.

" _You_ didn't have to sleep at midnight 'cause prosthetics needed two more casts of your mug," Martin said. In front of him and Richard were Mark and James, both kneeling on their seats so they could look over the backrest. Like kids in a school bus. 

Mark reached past his seat's headrest and patted him on the shoulder. "Richard, you go to sleep if you want to."

Richard actually hadn't slept all night, but he was keeping that bit of info to himself. Prosthetics had finished at half past midnight, and he had a 3 a.m. call to be on set. Them being driven to location that day coupled with a security run of the barrel scene had been playing with his nerves, and he'd decided to just stay up and condition himself before morning came.

He'd felt the effects of his decision a while before boarding the bus. It was like trying to run with a giant, heavy blanket enveloping his head, with absolutely zero motivation to keep trying.

At least he wasn't nervous anymore.

The gentle rocking of the bus really wasn't helping him stay awake. He jolted into wakefulness from Martin's shoulder - when had he fallen asleep again? "God," he muttered, pressing fingers against his closed eyes. "Sorry."

"It's okay. Heard you had a late night and an early start."

Richard blinked, disoriented, and turned to face his new seatmate. "Martin was here," he slowly said. He felt - and sounded - utterly sluggish, and probably looked a great deal more confused. The person beside him was Lee, in half of his Elven battle gear. The smile he was wearing almost convinced Richard that he hadn't just made a fool of himself.

"Went up front. Made me switch." The smile turned apologetic. "He said my shoulder's higher."

No wonder there wasn't a crick in his neck anymore. He pulled himself up in his seat so his arse wasn't in danger of sliding off the upholstery. "Sorry. If I do that again, you have full license to kick me."

Lee just smiled and returned to fiddling with his phone. Like Richard, he had yet to put on his full costume and complete the rest of his prosthetics and beauty make-up. Well, beauty make-up for Lee, Richard fondly thought. Dwarves went through red sponges and airbrushed texture on their noses.

"You should go back to sleep." He found Lee looking at him again, concerned. "Stephen says it's still a long way off."

Richard gave him a wry smile. "Thanks. I'm all right." Just in case, he pressed himself firmly against the other side of his seat - if he toppled over again, at least he wouldn't be inconveniencing anyone. He rummaged in his satchel until he could feel the edges of his iPad. He drew it out, turned it on, opened his reading app and tried to concentrate on the words.

Someone was gently shaking his shoulder. Every slumbering muscle in his body wanted it to stop, but the nagging feeling that he was forgetting something important was too strong and he opened his eyes anyway.

Dwalin's face, gentled with a half-smile, swam into his line of sight. "Lad, time to get up."

Richard looked down and saw a thick, grey throw blanket covering him from shoulders to knees. He could feel a small pillow resting comfortably beneath his head. A quick exploration revealed that his iPad lay safely on top of his chest, beneath the blanket. 

Graham was in complete Dwalin ensemble...which meant Richard was late. He hated being late. "Why didn't anyone wake me sooner?"

Graham shrugged. "We had time. Here," he handed Richard a couple of industrial-strength cables and straps, "ask Jed to show you how to put this on after your fat suit. Tami's waiting for you in our make-up trailer."

It took him an hour and a half in the trailer to get into full drowned-rat Thorin costume. They did have time - Peter was off with the main unit getting filler scenes and a few glamour shots of the Elves deep in the forest. The river was in full sight when he emerged from the trailer, and he was relieved to find that it didn't look as intimidating as he'd initially feared. There were wires and cables running up and down the borders, as well as a few dozen ropes and wooden planks at the very far end, before the river went wide, to catch the actors beyond the cameras' frames.

A few of them were already in their barrels and happily splashing around. Adam's laughter and Mark's vigorous paddling eased some of his fears.

A minute after being assisted into his barrel, people were suddenly rushing about, taking down hooks and rolling ropes into coils. Mana Davis went over to him and said, with his hand reaching out for Richard's in an offer of assistance, "Officer over there just told us there's a storm warning. We have to pack up. _Now_."

It was probably a little embarrassing, how fast Richard got out of that barrel. But Mana said nothing of it, and everyone else was too busy hauling stuff to notice. Costume disrobed and fat suit unstrapped, he joined the rest of the cast in the actors' bus and returned to his seat from earlier.

He hoped he hadn't pissed Martin off by accidentally sleeping on him, because Lee was there in the seat next to his again, beside the window. It looked like his fellow actor hadn't been given a chance to get out of his battle gear at all.

"No barrel-riding today, gents." Richard looked past the seats and saw Peter standing near the front entrance of the bus. He looked utterly inconvenienced. There were some disappointed murmurings from some of the cast - Richard breathed a quiet sigh of relief to himself. "You little bastards can have half the day off while Weta creates a fun slide back at the studio. Elves and Hobbits, Set 18 when we get back, please."

The bus's engine revved as soon as Peter left. Richard leaned back in his seat, a little shameful of the relief he felt at the delay in the river scene.

"You look like you just dodged a bullet," Lee said, canting his head. "Not a fan of the rapids?"

It took a moment for Richard to answer. "Not particularly. Me and deep water, we don't really get along."

"Yeah. Me, too." At Richard's inquiring glance, he continued: "Ear trouble when I was a kid - can't go deeper than a few feet, or my head feels like it'll explode."

Richard gave a slight nod. "I can't really...submerge," he said, after an awkward pause. "Well, I can, but it's...it does a number on me."

He was skirting around specific words, but judging from Lee's worried frown, he had a feeling he was understood anyway. "Does Pete know?" Lee delicately asked.

Richard rubbed his hands over his thighs. He was already regretting having said anything. With a relaxed smile, he said, "They've all but bordered the whole river with ropes and wires, and we're in tough, buoyant barrels. It's not really an issue."

Lee didn't look very convinced. "I guess," he said. Still, he gave an encouraging, light-hearted shrug, which Richard was grateful for. "With any luck, Pete will be happy with all the filming you'll do in the studio and you won't have to go back."

 

Concentrating on the stinging pain from the tiny pebbles digging into his palms and knees kept Richard from throwing up his meagre lunch. He was vaguely aware of someone hovering and nattering around him - it sounded like Martin, frantic and in full fuss mode. A question was being repeated at him, but try as he might, he couldn't make it out. A tight nod and waving his right arm towards the others still on the river bank got it to stop, and bought him the time to himself that he needed.

There was great comfort in how Thorin's mane of hair shielded his face from view while he concentrated on not blacking out. The panic in his chest felt frozen there, and it was a chore to draw in one deep breath, then the next, until the light-headedness threatening to overwhelm him slowly dissipated.

He carefully stood, brushing off bits of rock and sediment from his arms as he did so. The pair of prosthetic hands, now useless, lay beside his empty barrel. He did a quick sweep of the area to see if anyone was watching him. Finding everyone else preoccupied with the other Dwarves (John and Adam had just been roped back to shore, and Stephen was still floating downriver), he quickly made his retreat towards the nearest tent.

It looked to be a makeshift break room for the crew - a few chairs, paper plates, and various finger foods and drinks lined up on a plastic table. There was laughter and commotion outside. He could just barely see Graham trying (and failing) to haul a soaked Adam out of his barrel. 

He took a paper cup and moved to the back, pouring himself some coffee from one of the thermoses, and threw a brief prayer that no one would come in to check on him. Just a few more minutes to himself should do it. It never got easier, but he was no stranger to this.

The smell of coffee was at least staving off his nausea. He placed the half-filled cup back on the table (hating the way his hand shook), and braced his arm on the scratched, plastic surface. Eyes shut, he focused on the comforting scent of coffee and tried to swallow down the massive lump in his throat that refused to leave. 

Cool fingers slid into his right hand. He spun with a start, breath stopping, only to see Lee's large, worried eyes looking up at him from where he was sitting nearby. 

He hadn't even heard him enter or pull up a chair. His hands were still shaking - the one in Lee's gentle grasp included, little tremors that he was sure the other man could feel, but made no mention of.

What Lee asked was, "What happened?" with a tentative sincerity that was undoing all of Richard's hard work. 

His voice felt scratched, though he hadn't spoken, and that lump was still there. He didn't trust himself to speak.

"Richard?"

He must look quite the sight, he thought, and self-consciously tried to school his expression as best he could. "Barrel -" Fuck. His voice didn't sound right. He swallowed and tried again: "Barrel went under." Under _all_ of the security lines and the safety ropes. And water had rushed in, and his harness had got tangled onto something, and there was nothing he could grab on to -

"Breathe." He felt Lee tightening his hold on his hand - he tightened his grip back, more to keep his hand from shaking. "You look like you're about to pass out. Here, you should sit-"

" _No._ " The very thought of sitting down was bringing his nausea back in full force. He frowned at his own discomfort, at the sharpness of his tone. "Sorry."

"Jesus. Don't apologize. Okay, no sitting." An awkward pause fell while he tried to normalize his breathing (and not be too embarrassed about it). "Do you want me to get someone...?"

He shook his head. 

"Okay." Lee's thumb slowly slid to and fro across his tense knuckles. "Okay. You just breathe."

It was a distressing amount of time before it occurred to Richard that he should let go. Lee's hold had loosened a while back, and he was probably causing the man undue embarrassment by keeping him here. Bad enough that he'd almost blubbered like a two-year-old - Lee really didn't need to be subjected to any more of this, and definitely not in the middle of work. 

"Wanna know about a prank I played on one of my teachers in high school?"

Richard's gaze snapped to Lee's, but there was little he could read there. Just Lee, waiting for his answer, his eyes hazel, bright, and unassuming.

He opened his mouth to say yes, thought better of it and instead gave a curt nod. Lee launched into an eager retelling of something he and his friend Matt had planned and executed with deliberate precision back when they were rowdy teenagers. Richard just let Lee's voice flow through him at first, focused as he was on his own internal battle, with the odd thought or two thrown at their warm joined hands. But as the story progressed, he found himself suitably distracted, listening and chuckling- the prank itself struck him as a little mean-spirited (God, that poor woman), but Lee's retelling was so fond and involved, that he got rather engaged with the whole thing.

"I would never have pegged you for a prankster," he said, after their laughter had died down some.

"I wasn't! My friends were shit. Kept egging me on."

Richard gave a low chuckle. "Sure." He drew in a deep, experimental breath - not a single hitch. 

There was an attentive quality to the way Lee was watching him. He waited until Richard released his second unimpeded exhalation. "Everything okay? You look better."

"Yeah." Richard gratefully squeezed the hand in his. "Yeah, thanks."

"Guys?" Dean's head peeked in from the tent's entrance. They released each other's hands. Richard leaned against the table and tried for nonchalance (he knew he was failing, but there was little else he could do). 

"Oh. Sorry..." Dean cleared his throat. That tight little space under the table was looking more and more attractive as a hiding place. "Dwarves're setting up for another take."

Richard was about to reply that he'd be right there, when Dean seemed to be _pushed_ out of their line of sight. Martin's annoyed hissing wafted in from the entrance. "What are you bothering them for?! Shoo!" 

"I had to-" Dean's confused, fading voice said before he was interrupted by Martin again, though both were too far for Richard to hear any more.

Another take. He tried to ignore the way his heart raced at the thought of getting into that damned barrel again, and pushed himself away from the table. 

"You really should tell Pete..." Lee said, still watching him with that concerned expression. 

"It's fine." He wore what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "Thank you."

Lee smiled back, though it was smaller and uncertain. Richard had a feeling that if that barrel went under again, Lee would be talking to Peter about it, Richard's blessing or no. 

Though if that barrel _did_ go under again, Richard wasn't quite sure he could remain conscious enough to give protest anyway.

 

"So, Dickie," James said, between mouthfuls of tenderloin and vegetables, "What's up with you and our resident American sweetheart?"

Richard frowned. He took a quick drink from his water to clear his mouth. "What do you mean?" 

"Lay off it, James," Graham said, with an edge of annoyance. 

James ignored him. "Seems like you two are always chatting between takes." 

"He's very friendly," Richard replied, a little confused.

"'Friendly,' he says." James laughed. He pointed his steak knife at Richard's face. "You know what happened on set today? Peter -"

"You mean apart from you fibbing your lines?" Aidan gleefully piped up.

James threw him a brief glare. " _Peter_ said, 'Anyone seen Lee? We need him in Set 20.' When no one could find him, he _actually_ said, 'Well, where's Richard? We find him, we'll find Lee.'"

A few of the people eating at their table laughed. Richard smiled and gave a light shrug. "Turns out we have a lot in common."

"Well, you just let your Dwarf family know when the wedding's on, all right?" James slapped him on the shoulder. Empty plate in hand, he called out to the rest of the table as he stood: "Anyone want more food, water? I'm off to get seconds."

Right after James left, Graham leaned in and said, "Tongues wagging." He drew back and uttered a dismissive noise. "People are bored. Don't worry about it."

Richard wondered if he _should_ be bothered, like they seemed to expect him to be. "Lee and I don't really spend any more time together than Adam does with Jed, I don't think."

"Adam and Jed don't have Ian telling other people what an adorable couple they make," Aidan volunteered. "What?" he asked defensively, when both Graham and Richard stared at him. 

Beside him, Dean was looking ten shades of guilty. 

"Dean...?" Richard pointedly said. 

The younger man winced. "Yeah...that's probably my fault. Ian maaaay have asked me if I thought something was going on between you two." 

"Dean." 

"Sorry! It's just that, what I saw at the river two weeks ago, and then the two of you being all joined at the hip after -"

"What happened at the river?" Graham looked from one to the other, wearing a deep frown. "Why don't I know about this?"

"He was just making sure I was all right," Richard explained, eyes earnestly fixed on Dean. "I panicked a little when my barrel tipped over and passed the security lines. That's all."

" _Not_ what it looked like." Dean looked mildly apologetic and gave a one-shouldered shrug. "Sorry, Richard."

Graham wiped his mouth with a paper napkin and tossed it onto his plate. "Either way, not a big deal. Especially since you're going to clear this up with Ian," his tone turned mildly threatening, "right?"

"...Right." 

Poor Dean. Richard had never heard him sound so reluctant before. 

He felt Graham's elbow rib him, and he gave the man a smile. Since accidentally finding out about him not unpacking for three weeks, Graham had been displaying these protective impulses now and then. It was sweet, he supposed. He appreciated the brotherly affection most days, like now. Some days, he just wanted slap him upside the head with a table tennis paddle.

"Not that I think you two wouldn't make a great pair, mind." Graham's voice and expression lost the playfulness from earlier. "But false rumours can be harmful, and we can't prevent them from leaving these sets."

Richard was inclined to agree. The privacy he'd built around himself was too precious to lose, especially with such a high profile production under his belt now. 

He hadn't factored in Ian choosing not to believe Dean, however. The morning after, he was waylaid by his on-screen nephew, given a baleful glare, and duly informed that further communication with Ian in the future would require a buffer. 

"He's being stubborn. I dunno, you should probably talk to him instead." 

"Just leave it," Richard urged. "Like Graham said, it's not a big deal."

Dean let out a loud breath. "Whatever, man. I mean...I'd talk to him, if I were you."

Something about the way Dean said it worried Richard for the better half of the day. As soon as he spotted Ian sitting alone with his laptop, he pulled up a chair beside him and asked about the earlier conversation. 

Ian took his time, peering at Richard from above his reading glasses. He placed his copy of the script under his seat and took out his phone. 

"You will forgive an old man his assumptions, Richard," Ian began, while tapping on and swiping across the screen, "but you'll understand why I find that a little hard to believe."

He leaned forward and offered the device. Richard took it with some trepidation.

The display was a gallery, fifty-two images total. From the thumbnails, Richard had a feeling they were _all_ of him and Lee. The first image was innocuous enough, however (just he and Lee talking). So was the second. And the third. The seventh was of him resting slack-jawed on Lee's shoulder on the bus from a few weeks back. He frowned deeply and wondered what Ian's point was.

"Keep going," Ian lazily uttered.

It was around the eleventh picture or so that Richard could see where Ian was coming from. A hand on a shoulder, arm, or thigh. Leaning in close to whisper while watching other people during rehearsals. Twenty-four was a picture of him with his hand on the small of Lee's back (his fault, he recognised - he had been trying to urge Lee onwards and he hadn't been looking where his hand had landed). Thirty-six was a photo of Lee using Richard's left side as a backrest while he read through a comic book.

"Did you take all of these...?" 

"No. I have better things to do." He could hear the eyeroll in Ian's voice. "But Martin sent half of these. Well, Evangeline sent a few. Orlando might have sent one or two." As if on cue, the next swipe displayed a picture of them in costume, laughing while Richard was trying to wipe some fake blood that got stuck on Lee's chin (that was just a few days ago - he and Graham had been splashing Orc blood on each other under Weta's direction, and Lee had got caught in the crossfire). A caption in Comic Sans read: "HELP, DADDY IS FRATERNIZING WITH THE ENEMY!"

"Most of these don't really say anything." Apart from Lee being an openly affectionate man and having a lovely laugh.

"You might find images forty-eight to fifty of interest."

Forty-eight showed him sitting in his actor's chair, script in one hand, and his other hovering near his mouth, fingers grazing the corner of his lips. An idle habit he'd never quite broken out of. On the other side of the image was Lee.

His thumb slid across the phone's surface, trailing across brown hair and pale skin. He'd never had anyone look at him that way before. Not in real life, not from anyone he knew. And not from anyone he didn't expect it from.

"That is the face of a young man smitten," Ian said, and it took a while for Richard to grasp that he'd meant it of Lee and not himself. "If what you say is true, then I would do the kind thing and put him out of his misery before things get too complicated."

It felt odd, planning to shut something down before knowing for sure whether or not it actually existed. Although he very much doubted Lee was as taken with him as Ian was suggesting (photographs were so often taken out of context - and this was _Lee_ ; charming, affectionate, uncomplicated Lee), he couldn't really fault the man's logic if he turned out to be correct. 

He managed to work something into casual conversation after lunch, while they were shoulder to shoulder and sharing ear buds to listen to a Gotye song Richard had never heard before. The light conversation had drifted to actor superstitions and habits during filming, and Richard slipped in his personal policy of not having romantic relationships during work.

Lee simply said, "Good policy," with his lips curved in an easy-going smile.

 _Ian's wrong._ He bumped his shoulder against Lee's and asked him to change the station.

 

Peter's voice had barely bid them farewell for the night at 9 p.m. when James started yanking at his prosthetic arms (the wet splat accompanying it made several people wince) and called out "Some of us are hitting a bar down in Welly tonight, anyone's welcome to join." He looked over to where Lee and Richard were picking off twigs and cobwebs from each other's real hair. "You two lovebirds coming?"

Lee made a face. Richard laughed. "A drink sounds nice."

It was probably the exhaustion and the fact that there was no shoot the day after - Richard downed shot after shot of cognac, and, by the sixth, he knew his morning after was going to be absolutely miserable, so he might as well down some more. Lee had to be goaded into drinking more glasses of beer, but he didn't seem to go beyond tipsy levels of inebriation (despite collective Dwarven efforts). 

"Richard," Aidan said in a mock-whisper, "there's a dance floor."

"Oh, piss off." Richard grinned as everyone else laughed. "None of you ever want to dance with me, anyway. You just like watching me wave my arms around."

"What about Lee here?" James snickered and nudged Lee, who looked like he was trying to make himself smaller. "Go make Dickie dance!"

" _No_ , thank you!" Lee seemed embarrassed to be put on the spot. James's further nudging was met with a light shove and a laugh. "Believe me, you don't want to see this dancing. I'm too tall."

"'Too tall,'" Graham echoed with a snort. "You've not seen Richard in action, then."

Richard couldn't keep his eyes off the dance area, now. The conversation flowed around him as he watched more and more bodies joining in the semi-darkness. The strobe lights shut off for a few seconds as the music changed to something trance and electro-house, and fuck, but it was calling to him. 

He couldn't remember now if he said anything before moving in. Soon, he was flush against two warm torsos, thrilled with the way his torn, sleeveless black top felt so _thin_ compared to the encumbering bulk that was Thorin Oakenshield every. Damn. Day. His button down shirt that he'd left completely open and forgot to leave at their table flapped and fluttered as he moved, and would sometimes sink low on one shoulder, exposing patches of his thirsty skin to hot air.

There was no keeping track of the song changes anymore. He trusted his fellow cast to yank him out of there if it got too late (Graham had had to drive him home last time). The bodies surrounding him gradually thinned, at least enough for him to distinguish one from the other - and from the looks of it, he'd been dancing with this one other man for a good couple of minutes now. 

As soon as the music slowed down and the lights went up for a moment's break, the man tugged at his shirt. "They're about to close," he said, voice husky and breathless. "Continue this at my place?"

Richard blinked away sweat. It was so very tempting. The man was pleasant enough, and Richard supposed he was handsome in the way that Lucy liked to joke about when referring to Jonas (but also in the way Richard didn't find especially attractive). 

But damn, this man could _move_.

 _You're not on vacation,_ he told himself. And repeated it, just so it would sink in.

He could feel his loins screaming bloody murder and abuse at him. "I'm flattered, but..."

Not-so-tall, dark, and handsome's smile was riddled with missed opportunities. "Another time, then?"

"Yeah. Another time."

Richard didn't feel much like dancing after that. He wove his way through the dancers as the lights dropped and the music started again.

Half of their table was vacated when he eventually found it again, with the other half nursing their drinks or busy with their phones. A quick glance around revealed some of the younger ones at the bar. 

"It's hot," Richard said after he took up his former seat. He grabbed the edges of his button-down and tried to flap the heat away. 

"What did he want?"

Lee's voice sounded heavy. It pierced through Richard's alcohol/dance-induced giddiness and made him stare. "I'm sorry?"

"The man you were dancing with," Lee continued in that same tone of voice, though there was a slight, embarrassed quality to it now. As if he didn't want to be asking this but couldn't help himself. "Someone you know?"

"No." There was a pause, as Lee waited and Richard wondered if saying more would appease the sudden tension. "He invited me to his place, I...I said no."

"Oh. Of course."

"Lee..." _Are you interested in me?_ The question hovered on his tongue, tasted of foolishness and a million terrible ideas, and died a quick death there. It was the alcohol, he decided. Too drunk to function, must get to bed. "We should probably call it a night."

"That...sounds good," Lee said. He looked relieved.

They wouldn't talk again for five days.

 

Graham muttered to himself as he tried to jam his "Dwarvicise" gear into his locker. Three ear-splitting thumps against the door, and it finally closed. "Bar-hopping with Andy tonight. Y'coming?"

Richard's own locker hinges were starting to give. He gave it an experimental swing. "I can't tonight. Tami will have my hide."

"Don't have to drink. I'm on car duty - stay sober and keep me honest. You haven't gone out with us in a while." There was a hint of accusation in Graham's voice.

"Some other time?"

He heard fabric being stowed away, and the sound of a sports bag's zipper being closed. "Would it make a difference if I said Lee wasn't coming along?" 

The top hinge broke. Richard cursed under his breath and gathered up the screw and metal plate from the floor.

"I'm here, if you want to talk about it."

"I just really need to rest tonight," Richard said, after binning the screw and plate. He gave Graham a smile and turned his attention to his own bag.

"Offer's open." Richard waited out Graham's hesitant pause. "See you tomorrow, then."

Rearranging his things and being on hamper duty took another ten minutes. Lights off and sports bag in hand, he proceeded down the dimly-lit corridor towards the exit.

The gentle whistle of a bladed weapon being swung drew him towards a bright room. Lee stood in the centre among blue workout mattresses and abandoned green sticks, spinning his Elven blade three times in the air in graceful arcs, back straight, and ending the motion abruptly by anchoring the weapon near his left hip, as if into a scabbard. Exhale. Rinse and repeat. 

During the fourth execution, he noticed Richard standing at the doorway.

Richard gave a hesitant smile. "That's going to look fantastic on screen."

"You mean it doesn't already?" Lee asked with a small laugh. He turned his back and busied himself with putting things away, sparing a brief glance at the clock on the far wall. "I didn't notice the time."

"We need to talk, don't we?"

Lee's back tensed. His tone remained light, however. "About what?"

"I don't..." Richard drew in a deep breath, annoyed with himself. "That is. You shouldn't -"

"Maybe later...?" The interruption was sharp, but not impolite. Lee chose to carry his bag by the hand straps. He stood and waited in front of Richard. "I have to go. Running lines with Orlando before it gets too late."

He'd intended to say _"Don't change your schedule over me. You shouldn't have to."_ He wanted to try again, but something in Lee's expression told - begged - him not to. 

Lee probably thought he'd been about to say something else. "I'm not -"

"It really is rather late."

That was it, then. Richard frowned to himself, nodded, and got out of Lee's way. 

"Good night, Richard."

"Good night."

 

Someone was slapping his knee. He looked up from his script to find Martin offering him a cup of coffee from their local barista. "All right? You've been reading that for an hour."

Richard took the cup and popped off the lid. "Still trying to adjust to the script changes."

"Do what I do. Just have Andy yell my new lines to me if they change anything." They shared a brief laugh. The studio they were in was chaotic - everyone moving about, artists and actors alike. It was all Elves that day, but Peter wanted everyone ready and in costume in case they had enough time to shoot some extra scenes. Several feet ahead, Jason Docherty was yelling, "Anyone seen Lee? Lee Pa - oh, there you are." 

Lee didn't look particularly eager, which would be odd, if Richard didn't know that today was his last day of filming before he had to fly back to America. "Poor bastard," Martin said, after taking a sip from his own cup. "He's been moping all afternoon." He side-eyed Richard, who, in turn, buried his face back into his script. "I don't suppose you can help out with that?"

Richard frowned. "I doubt anything I say can make him feel better. He has to fly off, either way."

"So you two _are_ having a tiff, then? Jimmy mentioned something along those lines."

"We're not really together." Martin was looking more and more bewildered. "I'm guessing Ian didn't clear things up with you."

An accusing finger pointed at Richard, from the same hand holding the coffee cup. "You two were fucking holding hands just a month ago."

"It wasn't anything. You could have come in and said hi."

"I was going to! You bloody well had me worried sick when I saw you stumble out of your barrel. I didn't know you two were re-enacting bloody R&J. What the fuck was that, then?"

"I was having...I was a bit spooked when my barrel went under. He was just calming me down."

"By holding your hand. Yeah, _that's_ convincing." Martin's tone held all the sarcasm of one who just didn't _get_ panic attacks. Richard swallowed down his annoyance. "Go be a bloody human being and talk to him before he leaves, at least. Christ."

Martin finished his coffee before he wandered off. Ann Maskrey had just finished attaching Thranduil's crown. In the middle of the studio, Orlando was being filmed, a scaled version of Orcrist in his hand and slicing through the air. Looked like it was going to be a while. They'd set up the whole studio like a theatre stage, complete with raised wooden platforms and black curtains framing the green screen. Lee was watching from the wings, as it were, right side leaning against the wall, left hand idly twirling one of the many dangling bits of his robes.

He could only catch a portion of Lee's face from where he sat, and Lee didn't look as miserable as Martin let on. Melancholy, perhaps. A little pensive. 

While they hadn't been talking as much as before, he did notice that Lee had barely said anything that day. Richard remembered him speaking about Lincoln and how excited he was to be part of it, so his current reticence didn't seem at all appropriate. 

His approach went unnoticed, and slipping his hand through the idle fingers of Lee's left felt strangely natural. Their fingers twined loosely. He looked up from their joined hands to find Lee watching him with a guarded look, very unlike anything he'd ever given Richard before. It stung a little - he turned his gaze to the stage and tried not to miss the bright, guileless smile that came so easy to Lee in the past. Perhaps he'd never see it again. 

He wasn't really sure whose fault it was. He felt guilty, and that was enough. Richard squeezed his hand. After a while, Lee squeezed back.


	2. Chapter 2

Lee seemed determined to spend his last hour on set gathering e-mails and phone numbers. He'd approached Richard first, looking tired but amiable, and jotted down his address. Richard watched him flit around for forty minutes, before circling back to make sure he had the e-mail spelt right (which was a good thing, as _Richard_ had it wrong, and Martin just had to notice and make fun of him for it).

They shared a hug and a firm slap on each other's backs. Lee's eyes were overly bright. _I'll e-mail him first thing tomorrow,_ he thought, when he and the others saw their fellow actor off at the entrance to the studios.

He only remembered that he'd promised that to himself when he received an e-mail from Lee, one and a half weeks later. It was a mass-delivered message, CC'd to a _lot_ of people involved in The Hobbit production. _"Looks like I might be wearing stuffy frock coats in my next movie. Already missing the robes and the crown! How's the weather there in Middle-earth?"_

He felt like a cad. Work had taken all of Richard's time and attention once Lee was gone. He welcomed it - threw more of himself into it. Peter was thrilled, and Graham was worried.

There was already a reply from Evangeline: _"Improved as soon as you left! Miss you!!! xoxo"_

His cursor hovered between "Reply" and "Reply All." He couldn't decide, started to get annoyed with himself, and just shut off his tablet with a mental note to reply later. 

(He forgot to do that, too.)

 

 _He really should be with someone his age,_ was Richard's first thought when he spotted Lee again, almost a year later. The mop of brown hair (often so uncontrollable in the mornings) was gone, and in its place was a ridiculous haircut that was cropped on all sides except the top. But it made him look younger. The smile was back. It was aimed at Aidan and Luke, who had been the first to greet him, and all three looked like they belonged together.

The back of someone's hand slapped his arm. "Stop gawping and go greet your boyfriend," James said, and added a little thrust of his chin for emphasis.

"James, just...no." Richard was saved from further abuse when Graham firmly took James's arm and steered him aside. Whatever Graham told him that day, it got James to stop making small digs at him and Lee ever since.

He wondered what Graham knew. Hell, he wondered what everyone knew. Martin tended to run off at the mouth sometimes, so there was a good chance that some skewed version of events had already spread even before the first round of filming ended. They'd all drifted to their respective lives, with the occasional calls for interviews and ADRs. He and Graham had exchanged e-mails sometimes, light stuff like birthday greetings and the odd check up or two after natural disasters. Adam had actually sought _his_ advice on a personal matter, one that Richard had answered with a heartfelt apology as he was ill-equipped to offer guidance (and he was at the top of a mountain at the time, getting ready to launch himself down a steep slope, but that was secondary). 

He'd thought about messaging Lee, something simple like wishing him well on the premiere...but it had been too long since Lee had sent him an e-mail. Sending him a message extremely late somehow felt more rude than not sending one at all.

"Richard." Lee was in front of him, polite smile in place, hand extended. The handshake that followed felt firm and unnatural. 

"Good to see you," Richard said, matching Lee's polite tone. 

Lee's eyes roamed his face, lingered on his jaw, and narrowed in amusement. "Beard's not quite there yet, I see."

"No, no it isn't." He laughed and rubbed his palm self-consciously across his jawline. He'd missed his mark by a week or two. Good thing Peter had everything planned out, so waiting for Thorin's beard to grow back to its proper length didn't turn out to be much of a hassle."Should be there in about a week."

And then Lee was being whisked off to reunite with the rest of the cast. Richard released a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. What had he been expecting, exactly?

 

He had been dragging his tired body towards his trailer for a quick kip when Peter King nearly collided with him at a bend in the corridor. "Good! I found you. You're needed for a new fitting in wardrobe, ASAP."

"On my way."

Peter dashed down the corridor ahead of him. He spun on his heels to face Richard again after about ten paces. "Wait! Since you're headed there, can you please tell Lee that Jason's looking for him?"

Richard's eyes grew wide. "Tell Lee...?"

"He's in the adjacent room, it won't take long. We need to make sure the crown won't mess with his new ears."

"There's - I need to -" Richard gestured vaguely towards the other end of the corridor. 

Peter's voice took on a note of pleading. "Please? I really have to check on the dye vats."

Which was how Richard found himself awkwardly stepping into the communal all-purpose-room and interrupting Lee and Evangeline's line run. 

"Hey, Richard," Evangeline greeted. Both of the Elf actors were in casual clothes, with Lee leaning against the wall and Evangeline sitting cross-legged on a table. 

"Towel Rail." She scrunched her nose at him and sniggered. "Uh...Lee, Jason's looking for you."

Lee smiled affably and waved his phone a bit. "Yeah, I got his text. Thanks, though."

The silence stretched. Evangeline looked from one man to the other. "So...I have to go."

"Eva -!" Lee sounded slightly betrayed.

"I have to do the thing." She hopped down from the table and headed for the open door, taking a brief moment to playfully slap the script she was holding against Richard's arm before she left. Her footsteps echoed and vanished down the corridor. 

Richard came to a decision and moved to sit on the table she'd vacated. He frowned at his hands for a while. "Sorry," he said, eventually, "didn't mean to drive her off." He'd tried to mentally rehearse for a scenario exactly like this one just a few days ago, but he'd come up blank. He wished he'd tried a little harder. 

"It might help if you can stop looking so guilty whenever we're in the same room." He heard shuffling paper and moving fabric - a quick glance showed that Lee had crossed his arms. "It's been a year. Eva's starting to think you did something."

His frown deepened. "You were hurt," he carefully said. He wanted to say more - he wanted to _ask_ more. But doing so felt selfish, so he just clasped his hands tightly in front of him and waited.

A long moment passed before Lee said, "It happens." He released a short laugh, a bit self-deprecating to Richard's ears. "Besides, you're not doing too good, either." 

The last part was said in a light-hearted tone, a gracious out from the serious climate of the conversation. Richard couldn't bring himself to smile. "I'm sorry."

"You didn't _do_ anything. Richard..." Lee exhaled loudly. "You were clear. I wasn't listening."

Except Richard _hadn't_ been clear. And he was willing to bet his right arm that Lee had heard just fine. There was a sharpness layered under the cheeky, lackadaisical attitude that he had discovered, liked, and missed dearly when it had been taken away from him.

Richard moved a little on the table. He shoved the props and tools scattered on the surface to the side, and patted the cleared space as an invitation. 

His shoulder was playfully bumped as soon as Lee was seated. Hazel eyes and a soft smile greeted him when he looked up. "The apology's nice, though. Thank you. "

The silence grew strained. Richard shifted in his seat. "Orlando mentioned you haven't been going out with the guys since last year."

"Neither have you." Lee's tone was accusatory.

"It didn't feel right." 

"Hmm." Lee drummed out an idle rhythm on the table's plastic surface while he thought. "Eva mentioned a jazz bar down in Paraparaumu, how about you go out with us Elves for a change?"

"Tonight?" Richard asked, a little surprised. 

"Not good?"

"No, tonight works." Tonight was _going_ to work, if he had to take mallet and nail to it. And if he ended up drinking, well...he'd just have to think of an excuse so Tami wouldn't get too mad at him the next morning.

"Great," Lee said, with a satisfied air. "I'll let them know."

Richard hesitated slightly before he asked, "We're all right?" 

That might have come out a little too eager. He hoped he wouldn't be judged too harshly. 

Lee's smile widened. "We're getting there." 

Richard nodded and averted his gaze to the floor. Relief flooded his tired body in waves.

His lips curved in a half-smile. "I just remembered that's where Jed was squeezing out his wet underwear earlier-"

He gave a low laugh when his arm was shoved.

 

"Watching the two of you not talk to each other was torture. _Absolute_ torture." Martin had his hands on his hips. Richard couldn't tell whether he was being completely serious or half-kidding, so he opted to stay quiet. Lee, on the other hand, had no trouble displaying his amusement. Somewhere off in the background, Aidan and Orlando were making crude jokes about uncle and daddy not getting a divorce anymore. "Don't you ever subject us to anything like that again. If the pair of you turn out to be one of those on-again-off-again couples -"

Ian's loud voice rang clearly from somewhere to their left, where stagehands were setting up an enormous part of the Lake-town set. "People _fight_ , Martin. Get over it."

"They don't normally last a full bloody year, though, do they?" 

"We weren't really..." He weakly tapered off when Martin fixed him with an incredulous, pointed look, "fighting."

"Nevermind. You two are mental. Where are you going? I'm not done with you yet."

Two steps. He'd managed to take two steps before Martin was on him again. "I..."

"There's a mattress and pillows set up in the back room. We have four hours - you're going to get some sleep."

"I need to review my choreograph-"

It became evident to Richard, seconds later, that that had been entirely the wrong thing to say. Graham and Jed appeared at his sides, eerily coordinated, and manhandled him into the adjoining room. He looked to Lee for help, but one glance at his face and he knew that the scamp was in on it. 

To Martin and the boys' credit, he did get some much-needed, restful sleep. 

 

Richard stepped onto the first rung of the railing designed to keep people away from the steep drop off the high cliff. It was just a bend in the road, really, nothing spectacular about it. But it had been on the drive back from the Tenacious D concert, and he'd wanted to take a moment to admire the view. 

Peter had given him a weird look, but acquiesced. Lee had got out of the car as well. "I'll just make sure your Thorin doesn't fall off before he gets to die on screen."

He breathed in the cool night air, let it sink in, and breathed it out much more slowly. He was still riding that vertiginous sort of high that came with cheering and laughing too much, with the thrum of a loud bass and an invasive sound system humming through his body. 

His hotel was nearby, a few blocks' stroll. Lee's was in another building. Neither seemed to feel the need to end the night just yet.

"That was a _cracking_ good concert."

Lee stepped up to join him, though he kept one foot anchored on the ground. He placed his arms on the railing and pressed his chest against them. "Do you think they would have sung that song if they hadn't spotted us with Peter?"

"'Skinny-dippin' in a sea of Lee, I'd propose on bended knee...'" He laughed at the pained expression on Lee's face.

"At least you sing it much better than they did." Lee grinned cheekily after a short pause. "And I guess it's better than being serenaded with five whole songs about dick."

Richard sniggered. It would be a really long while before he could forget the way Jack Black had focused on him and begun the next segment with, _"Well, we don't have any songs about 'Richard'..."_

"I'm glad Pete was such a sport about the whole thing," Lee said, with a musing look at the cloaked horizon.

("I asked Pete to come along, because...well. That's okay, right?" 

"Oh...I suppose."

"What's wrong? You don't look pleased."

"No, I -"

"I can tell him to fuck off. You know, if you want. Not like he's our employer or anything."

"I just didn't expect we'd need a chaperone down in Welly -"

"Not like he can't sue us for our entire life's savings."

"Fine, get it out of your system."

"That's it, I promise."

"...I just didn't figure -"

"Not like he can't ban us from press tours in a multi-million dollar production."

"Let me know when you're done.")

The sky felt close and was covered in stars. Lee's eyes looked blue instead of hazel under their light. "It's weird," he said, his voice wistful. "This whole experience has been incredible, but I can't wait to move on and try other things."

Richard hummed. "What was it...'Galaxy Guardians'?"

"Close. 'Guardians of the Galaxy.' I didn't get the part I tried out for, but they're giving me a different role."

"Congratulations."

"Thanks." He looked over at Richard. "You must be swimming in offers after the first movie."

"Not really." He thought he'd be in a better position to get more interest in Langley's Richard III, but that hadn't proved fruitful. "I think I'm going to take a bit of a break after this. Just relax and let everything calm down. Review my options."

Lee snorted lightly. "Your agent's going to be so happy to hear that."

"I know. I'll have to remember to send her flowers soon."

"I can't imagine doing anything else, though." Richard caught a tiny glimpse of Lee's shy smile before he buried it behind his arms. "I can't imagine you doing anything else, either."

Richard echoed Lee's smile and didn't bother hiding it. He could imagine it easily, though: laptop in hand, a glass of Pinot Noir in the other, scrolling through a half-finished script he'd been working on for months, and getting distracted by the telly flashing Lee's name at the very start of a movie's introductory credits. 

 

The last week of pick-ups was passing by like a drawn-out dream. Everyone barely had room for rest, much less for going out or doing anything unrelated to work. Richard had been invited once by the younger cast to go out dancing (dancing!) at a local club sponsored by a famous Kiwi celebrity, but he'd declined. All the remaining shoots involved Thorin in some manner, so he didn't have the time. Mostly, he didn't have the energy. 

Monday found him having a lonely lunch at 3 p.m. Peter had wanted the same fight scene in three difficult angles, which resulted in almost fifty takes. He'd tumbled all the way to the far end of the exhaustion spectrum and hit the "body on life support - owner went to lunch" switch. 

He wasn't in the mood to be alone, not with another death scene looming over him and having to channel Thorin's gold sickness every working hour of every single day. Lunch tray and coffee cup in hand, he wandered down the lane of trailers until he found the one he was looking for. 

Lee had his earphones on and was watching something on his phone, knees drawn up, bare feet wiggling to some unheard rhythm. His trailer bed was too short for his frame, which he seemed to have remedied by placing the covers and the pillows on the floor. Richard knocked on the open door. Again, louder. He inwardly shrugged and moved farther into the trailer, entering Lee's line of vision, and smiled a little when the younger man jumped and scrambled from fright. 

"Do you mind if I eat here?" he asked, once Lee's earphones were off and he stopped resembling a rabbit stuck in traffic.

"No...no, of course not." Lee looked around, presumably for a suitable chair. "Sec, let me just -"

"No, don't get up." Richard sat on the floor in front of Lee, using his raised knees as back support. "This all right?"

"Yeah." He felt a light tug on one of Thorin's braids. "Please don't scare me like that again."

Richard chuckled. "I knocked. Twice." He sank a bit farther and sighed. "Tell me if you need to move, though."

"I will."

He didn't. In fact, he didn't move an inch, even when Richard fell asleep and his legs must have been hurting like hell. Good thing Richard only slept for twenty minutes. He'd make it up to Lee later by having his favourite dessert delivered to his hotel right after the day's shoot.

 

Adam had been bored. Or went temporarily insane. Richard couldn't tell anymore, they were all so very tired. One moment, a handful of the Dwarf cast had been helping Jed look for that one tiny box of ridiculously expensive rings that Weta needed (and that he'd been sure he stored in there somewhere if they'd just look harder, don't touch that Mark, get out of there Dean, Aidan what the fuck are you doing), the next, Adam and Graham were showering everyone else with an assortment of coloured glue and silly string that they'd uncovered from a whole box full of the stuff, and the hour had steadily devolved from there. 

The combination made for a _nasty_ paste. They were all also out of costume, which apparently meant underpants were fair game, as Graham gleefully demonstrated by yanking Stephen's waist band and squeezing a whole bottle down there.

Richard had to admit, while trying to wipe the layers of pink string covering his vision, that this had been the perfect catharsis for a hot, gruelling day. That part of the grounds became a temporary war zone, with Jed's trailer and the warehouse serving as forts. Someone had uncovered a confetti cannon, and there was an impressive, mad scramble for its ownership. Stephen decided he wasn't going to play fair and hauled most of the silly string canisters towards Jed's side of the battle line. 

" _Shit!_ "

Everyone froze. Richard peered around the warehouse's open door. Lee stood a few feet away from the general carnage, sporting a mixture of blue and purple glue with a spray of white string on his head. It completely covered the left side of his face. He didn't have his Thranduil wig on, at least, but it was clear from the glue-free parts that Peter King's team had already finished with his beauty make-up. 

They watched in horrified silence as Lee raised his hand to wipe the mess from his eye. Two large drops of the substance were in danger of dripping onto the costume department's painstakingly detailed Elven outfit. 

Adam was the first to break the silence. "Why're you always around when stuff's being thrown?" he asked, with genuine curiosity.

"Why are you always throwing stuff?" Lee asked in turn. He sounded peeved, which was a sure sign that he was also tired. A large flick of his hand caused a gob of sparkly glue to fly off and stick to the warehouse wall. "Taylor's going to kill me."

"It's all on your head and face, it'll clean up," Jed called out through his trailer's open window. "No, don't - that's - yeah. Too late. It's all over your shoulder guard, now."

Lee made a distressed noise. "Not helping, Jed." He was frozen in place, afraid to move and make things worse. 

Richard laughed. He abandoned his weapon on the warehouse floor and wiped his own hands clean as best he could. "Come here," he told poor, half-blind Lee, while taking hold of his wrist and steering him towards the nearest public sink. "Let's take care of that."

The substance came off easily with liquid laundry detergent and warm water, but all the hard work behind Lee's make-up was gone. At least his costume was pristine again. Richard let the soapy mixture in his cupped hand flow carefully over Lee's bent head.

"Your hand feels nice," Lee muttered, while Richard ran his fingers through the brown hair under the running faucet to catch the last of the stubborn glue. "Give Aidan a kick for me, okay? I think he was aiming."

 

"Why do you think Thranduil turns?"

Lee looked up from his phone. From the progress bar, Richard guessed he was already halfway through the Damages episode he was catching up on. "Sorry?" he asked, while removing one ear bud. The remains of their lunch sat unattended on the floor between them. It had become something of a ritual now, eating together in Lee's trailer. Their legs were touching, crossed at the ankles. Lee wiggled his foot.

Richard repeated his question. Lee's voice grew stage-louder, gaining a miffed edge. And a bad British accent. "What is this line of questioning? Thranduil does not 'turn.'"

Richard half-smiled. "You sure he just can't turn left?" He laughed when Lee nudged his leg. He flipped two pages back, humming low in his throat as he silently reread a passage in the book. "He returns Orcrist to Thorin. I've always thought that was a little odd."

"It's an ugly sword." Richard raised his eyebrows at him. "It's Noldor, isn't it? Theoretically, anyway. I don't think he'd want anything to do with it."

"Nothing to do with Thorin himself, then?"

"I can tell when you're fishing."

"I'm not." Richard smiled at Lee's doubtful expression. "Maybe just a little."

Lee sniggered. "You're better off asking Phil. I don't think you'd want to know what I think as Thranduil half the time."

"That makes me even more curious."

"Of course it does." The phone was back on his lap, play button pressed. Lee smirked as he put in the earbud he'd removed earlier. "Nerd."

Richard lobbed a balled-up paper napkin at Lee's head. His aim was terrible, but Lee ducked, anyway.

 

"...just Richard being Richard."

Richard paused. He backed up a step and felt immediately guilty. The door to one of the many fitting rooms had been left slightly ajar, and Lee's voice drifted clearly through the gap.

"Are you sure?" That sounded like Evangeline. "With the photos Ian's been showing me..."

"He's just a nice guy. Besides, he doesn't get involved with anyone during shoots."

"What about after shoots?"

Silence. And then: "Filming broke off last year, didn't it? Not like I even heard from him. Wait, what photos?"

"Just, you know. Oh my god, give me my phone back -"

Ten seconds' worth of muffled, scuffling sounds could be heard before all noise abruptly ceased. "...What did I just see."

"Serves you right. You don't just up and take a lady's phone, mister." 

"I don't think a lady would have that on her phone -"

" _Never you mind!_ And I said 'showed' not 'sent.' They're not in here."

"Tell me, then."

"No, it'll sound weird. And sort of creepy. Go ask Ian yourself, if you're so curious." 

Lee's laughter was loud. Carefree. "Whatever. I'm sure Ian's just teasing."

"Actually, he seemed mad." Lee mumbled something that Richard didn't catch. "Ya. Said you two had your heads so far up your own asses, that -"

Off in the distance, Richard vaguely heard the call to go to his mark. He shook his head and backed away from the door. Vestiges of his grasp on Thorin's persona still lingered, but it had taken him an extra twenty minutes after make-up and prosthetics to properly get into character earlier.

Damn. 

 

"Hi, Richard?" Three knocks landed on the trailer door. It opened after Tami yelled, "Come in!" without a single break in her routine. 

"Sorry to interrupt, Tami."

Tami hummed an agreeable noise while she worked. "Perfectly all right. There's booze in the minifridge if you want."

"...I'm fine, thanks." He mouthed a horrified "It's 7 a.m.!" at Richard.

Richard gave a deep chuckle. "I'm sorry, but I can't get up from this chair."

"Don't have to, I won't be long. Just saying my good-byes. Studio set up an early flight for me, so thought I'd do the rounds now before I drive back to my hotel."

Richard lost his smile. Something cold settled in his chest. "I thought your flight was tomorrow. Wrap party's tonight."

Lee gave a helpless shrug. "That was the plan, but my agent scheduled something with a magazine, and if I don't leave soon he'll yell at me." 

He didn't know what to say. Everything he wanted to felt inopportune. Thorin was heavy in his mind right now - a looming, broken presence - and he needed complete focus if he wanted to get through today with his sanity intact.

"Guess I'll see you at the premiere," Lee said, while Richard was still gathering his thoughts. He smiled and waved. "Try not to keel over tonight before Pete tells you to."

"Bye, Lee," Tami called after him.

Lee hadn't got very far when Richard caught up to him outside the make-up trailer, still in his sleeveless black shirt and dabs of prosthetic adhesive on his nose and forehead. 

"Can you stay for twelve more hours?" 

Lee had that wide-eyed, caught-in-traffic look again.

"Please." His hand fell on Lee's wrist. His fingers were cold. 

Lee fidgeted with the strap of his bag for a moment and looked away. "My flight's in two."

Richard withdrew his hand. _I'll write this time. Take care. See you at the press junket. Have a safe flight._ Words that all sounded the same and refused to leave his throat. He imagined he must look quite pitiful right now. 

"...Fuck it." He raised his eyes to find Lee giving him a fond, exasperated smile. "Yeah, what the hell. I'll see if I can push it."

That didn't sound definite. Still, Richard was grateful. "Sorry," he said, sincerely. "Thanks."

 

By the time Peter said "That's a wrap!" Richard was too emotionally and physically exhausted to notice the time. He and Aidan were the last to head to wardrobe. They shared a tired clap on the arm as they passed each other in the hall.

Graham all but dragged Richard to go with them on their last night out. They took a moment outside of the trailers to cycle through each other's phones, taking photographs of themselves, protesting Graham's and Jed's insistence on posting them on Twitter, but acquiescing when the two started shamelessly begging as men of over fifty were never meant to. 

The pub they encroached upon had been reserved by Peter, with all expenses paid for the entire night. Several of the cast and crew had been there for a few hours, some deep into their liquor already. As soon as they were seated, Richard checked his phone again. No messages from Lee, e-mail or SMS. Trying to ring his phone only got him a pre-recorded error message.

A tight knot had formed in his stomach since the first person he'd asked had told him he hadn't seen Lee all night. The last Richard had heard from him was at noon, when he'd sent a text message from his hotel: " _Flight re-booked at 8 p.m. Don't struggle when Graham tries to feed you!_ " 

He had said twelve hours, hadn't he? He sank onto his crossed arms and groaned. Why the fuck did he have to be so specific?

"Well, bugger," James exclaimed. "I didn't know America was so close!"

Two taps on his shoulder. Lee was looking rather prepared for the chill, with his dark blue coat and long scarf. The smile he gave Richard was warm. To James, he said, "Cancelled my flight. Pete promised me topless men and glitter at the wrap party, so here I am."

"Well...we have Jed." James gestured with his tankard towards where a shirtless Jed Brophy was doing handstands for a small crowd of clapping Weta artists. "If we splash him with beer, it'll look like glitter if you squint."

"Thanks, but I think I'll just ask Pete for a flight refund," Lee said, as he slid into the booth's seat beside Richard. James gave a "suit yourself" shrug and wandered off. 

The near-chaotic partying in the pub afforded them a little privacy, Richard observed. Graham and Stephen were having a loud beer-guzzling contest nearby. On the other side of their table, John was recounting a personal story about an old theatre stint to a handful of starry-eyed young actors. Lee leaned in, his arm around their seat's backrest. His voice carried over well as a low whisper, Richard thought. "Hey. You okay? You look exhausted."

Richard straightened in his seat. He could feel Lee's hand pressing against his left shoulder blade. "I was trying to call you."

"Yeah, that..." Lee winced, embarrassed. "I was trying to arrange a better flight sched, since I missed the 8 p.m. Then I got into it with my agent and had to turn my phone off."

"God. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. He's being a jerk, and I wanted to be here, anyway." He tilted his head a bit to the side. "I heard filming went well?"

"That's what they tell me." Lee was giving him that look, the one where he was waiting for Richard to say more or explain himself. His mind kept giving him static. He hadn't given much thought to what lay beyond getting Lee to stay just a few hours longer - only that he needed him to.

A corner of Lee's lips twitched a little. "So, why am I still here and not halfway across the world, drooling on my own pillow?" 

When the silence stretched, he continued, more tentatively, "I'm not complaining, but... did you just want me to be here for tonight? It's a big event, so I get it."

"Not just for tonight," Richard finally managed to say. He swallowed through the tightness in his throat and ploughed on, "If you're still interested...that is."

Lee stared. 

The seconds that followed felt unfairly stretched. Richard spared a quick thought to that version of himself who played the male leads in all of those love stories and wondered where that man went, because he sure as hell wasn't being very helpful right now. He breathed out a short, dry laugh. "This isn't very romantic, is it?"

"No. Wait, no, I meant -" Lee laughed at himself, averting his gaze briefly towards the table. He looked giddy, and it gave Richard hope. "That's fine. I've never gotten romance to stick, anyway." 

"Neither have I," he said, mildly. Unbidden, thoughts of his past entanglements went through his mind and he realised with some surprise that he'd never been as nervous about them as he was now. That the thought of their rejection hadn't made him stumble over his own tongue and try to choose his words so carefully, that he almost ended up choosing nothing at all.

Lee's eyes were warm now. Kind, gorgeous, and every bit a reminder of image number forty-eight. "I won't say no to trying something serious with you, if you're sure." Lee's lips slowly curved into a lovely smile. It vanished in a split second, his eyes growing comically wide. "Oh, I hope to God that's what you were saying, because, otherwise -"

"It was," Richard said, quick to interrupt the sudden torrent of words. He could already sort of see the many miscommunications they'd probably blunder through in the future, if this moment was anything to go by. "Something serious," he repeated, weighing the words on his tongue.

"Sounds good?" Lee asked. He withdrew his arm from the seat's backrest and took Richard's hand in a firm, comfortable grasp under the table.

Richard liked the way their fingers fit. He always had. "Yeah," he replied, his voice sounding relieved, tired, happy, and probably a little hopelessly in love, "sounds _very_ good."

They spent the rest of the wrap party seated next to each other, talking, drinking, and holding hands. They fielded off the teasing with embarrassed laughter on Richard's part (not very effective) and skilful misdirection on Lee's (moderate success rate). Exhaustion gradually crept up on Richard until he was slumped all over Lee's side at half past one. Everything else was a blur after that. He did remember, at one point, raising their joined hands to his lips (he might have been a little drunk).

They might even have shared a few kisses, come to think. Richard vaguely recalled tilting his head up and falling asleep to the taste of beer and sweetness on his tongue.

(The morning after, Lee would get a little upset over his not remembering, because, according to him, it had been _perfect_ , how could Richard not remember, here let me show you, it went just like this. Lee would realise he'd been played much later, but, by then, Richard had got away with five more perfect kisses to his name. Plus one very sulky lover.)

End


End file.
